The Fairer Road
by Rinne
Summary: Five lives the Winchesters had because John never started hunting. COMPLETE
1. Life 1

**Title:** The Fairer Road

**Rating:** Teen

**Spoilers:** At least until the end of season 1. None from season 2, I don't think.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own anything, not being paid

**Warnings:** Character deaths

**Genre:** Gen, with mentions of Sam/Jess, Dean/OFCs and John/OFC

**A/N:** Written for a 'five' request from lunardreamed. Thanks heaps to lunardreamed and Cha Oseye Tempest Thrain for the beta. Thank you also to the helpful people at sciencebeta on Live Journal. Title taken from _The Road Not Taken_.

**Summary:** Five lives they had because John didn't start hunting.

Life 1

"Dad, who's that?"

John looked over at Dean as he kept on walking. "Missouri Mossely, local psychic." There was quiet disdain in his voice. "She tried to tell me that some_thing_ killed your mother. I- I wasn't thinking right, almost believed her for a minute. The woman's certifiable."

Dean glanced back at the black woman as they crossed the road and got back to the Impala. She was watching him intently and a chill went down his spine.

"What time are Sam and that girl meant to get here?" John asked.

Dean turned back to John and rolled his eyes as he opened the driver's door and got in. "It's Jess, Dad, and around five." John slammed his door. "I've never gotten why you don't like her."

As expected, he didn't get any answer from his dad. John's dislike of Jess had never been explained. He was polite to her face but Sam had told Dean that Jess was quite aware that the man didn't like her. There had been a couple of times when Dean had thought that Sam was going to hit John for his behaviour, but it hadn't happened – yet. There was always a first time.

"Just give her a chance, Dad. The way Sam talks about her...I think she's the one."

John grunted in reply and Dean rolled his eyes.

"Fine," Dean muttered. "Be a cranky, old SOB then."

"I heard that."

Dean grinned. "I fully intended for you to."

S S S

"Well, that was fun. Just like old times."

Dean sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Sam..."

"I know, I know: don't start, I'm only home for a few days, I can keep my mouth shut for that long." Sam grimaced.

"You know, he didn't like my girlfriend either."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "He wasn't the only one. She was a bitch, Dean." Dean showed Sam what his middle finger looked like from the back. Sam sighed. "Sorry. He just frustrates me so much." Sam stood up and ran a hand through his hair, before gesturing in Dean's direction. "I mean, he doesn't even give a reason for not liking Jess, just ignores her."

Dean frowned as Sam paced. "Are you really that blind, Sam?"

Sam stopped in his tracks. "What?"

Dean looked down at his tightly clenched hands for a few seconds, before forcing his muscles to relax. He returned his gaze to Sam, before speaking softly, "Jess looks kind of like Mom, Sam."

"No... She doesn't... She doesn't, does she?" Sam started pacing again. "I mean, Mom was blonde, but so are a million other women." His movement suddenly ceased. "Why didn't he say anything?" He gestured expansively. "God, Dean. Why does he never say what's going on in his fucking mind?"

Dean shrugged. "That's just Dad. Mom-"

Sam shook his head as he interrupted. "It's not an excuse, Dean. She's been dead a long time."

"He's never gotten over it," Dean said gently.

"It's not fair. He has _us_. He should be living for us."

"He is."

Sam snorted. "Not enough."

Dean stood up. "And on that note, I'm going to bed. Thanks for the merry-go-round ride, Sam; it was fun. We should do it again some time."

"Dean," Sam called to Dean's retreating back. Dean raised a hand in a 'whatever' gesture. "Good night."

"Night, Sam."

S S S

"Jess."

Dean paused with his jeans half way down his legs. Sam's voice had come through loud and clear, which implied a bellow rather than a call during something more intimate that he didn't particularly want to think about.

"Jess, no!"

His voice was louder and scared and Dean quickly pulled his pants back up, rushed to his door, opened it and sprinted into the hallway. He opened Sam's door to heat and Sam lying on the bed, looking up with horror on his face.

"Jess!"

Dean looked up and Mom was pinned on the ceiling, her stomach slashed open and there was fire all around her. He staggered and clutched the doorway for support as the air heated – and wasn't the ceiling further away than that, and shouldn't there have been a crib, and he never saw his Mom on the ceiling – and the fire devoured the woman. "Mom?"

There was a bellow behind him. "Mary!"

And Dean knew what he had to do – he had to take Sam and get outside, don't look back. He pulled Sam off the bed and towards the door, and Sam was still yelling and struggling – little Sammy couldn't speak yet, how could he yell, and who was Jess – and his Daddy was yelling and the flames were crackling and everything was too loud. His Daddy was blocking the doorway and there were tears running down his face... and Dean suddenly knew who Jess was.

Sam was still fighting him, trying to get back to Jess. "Dad, a little help here!" He could feel his back getting hot and his father was just staring at the ceiling still crying. "Dad!"

When he didn't move, Dean knew that Sam was right, merry-go-round and all. It wasn't enough and never would be and Dean wasn't strong enough.

The smoke was getting worse as he pushed Sam past their father, down the stairs and out the front door. Sam tried to stop on the stairs and their doorstep, but their dad didn't sweep down like an avenging angel and Dean knew better this time. He continued pushing until they were on the sidewalk and collapsed in a heap with Sam.

The flames burst out the front door as bewildered neighbours left their own.

"Jess!" Sam called hoarsely, tears running down his face, as he made an attempt to get up off the ground. Dean kept his grip on Sam's arms, making sure he wouldn't go running back to the house. He could hear sirens, but it was too late.

S S S

Dean stared at the woman who answered the door.

"I'm so sorry, Dean," she said. "So sorry."

He clenched his jaw, before speaking, his voice still hoarse from screaming, and crying, and smoke. "Dad said that you told him something killed my Mom."

Missouri nodded. "You better come in." She held the door open and put her hand on his shoulder as he passed. "Oh, honey; it wasn't your fault. There was nothing you could have done."

Dean shrugged her hand off and went into the house. "Tell me how to kill it."


	2. Life 2

Life 2

"Dean! There's something outside!"

Dean dropped the can he'd been opening on to the table and grabbed the shotgun that was sitting on the chair. He ran into the living room, making sure to keep low to avoid being seen, and ducked down with Sam beside the window. Sam's eyes were wide and scared as he looked at Dean.

"Dad?" Dean asked.

Sam wordlessly shook his head. "They were scary." He inched closer to Dean. "I don't want to see a ghost, I don't want to burn like Mommy!"

"The salt lines are in place?" Dean asked intensely.

"Yes," Sam replied, his voice wobbling.

"Then we'll be okay. Nothing's going to get in. Nothing's ever gotten in and it's been a long time." Dean put as much certainty as he could into his voice, but it still wavered on the last words. "Dad will be home soon, and he'll kill them, whatever they are. Nothing can hurt us here."

"Can you hear that?" Sam whispered.

Dean nodded and put a finger to his lips. There were voices outside the cabin. Whatever they were, they talked. Dean clicked the safety off the shotgun and tried to still the trembling in his hands. This had never happened before. His dad had drilled him on what to do, but he had never seen a ghost or anything supernatural in all his twelve years. He hadn't even seen their mother pinned to the ceiling, Dad had just handed Sammy to him and told him to run.

Sometimes he wondered whether his dad had imagined the whole thing. He remembered small bits and pieces from his first four years, and none of that contained ghosts or demons or guns or salt.

There was a loud banging and more voices, causing both boys to jump.

"The front door," Dean whispered. "They can't get in. There's salt."

They heard the unmistakeable sound of the front door opening.

Dean's eyes widened with fear as Sam shifted closer still to him, whimpering. Dean raised the shotgun, holding it pointed at the door to the room. His teeth chattered as they waited and his hands grew slick on the gun.

There were footsteps – maybe werewolves or vampires? He had silver rounds; Dad said that it would take care of either of those. Salt and silver took care of virtually anything, not that they'd ever really had to put it to the test.

There was movement at the doorway and Dean fired.

There was noise, heat and being thrown back against the wall by the recoil because Dean had forgotten everything that his dad had taught him; a shout of "gun" and pain across his chest and wet heat sliding down him as he couldn't breathe and Dean realised as one spoke, but it was too late.

"Oh, God! It's just a kid."

Sam looked from the giant thing that had spoken, to another which was leaning against the wall holding its arm, to his brother who was slumped against the wall and staring blankly in front of him, his t-shirt red. "Dean." He shook Dean hard as the things got closer to them and Dean fell over sideways, now staring at a wall. "Dean. Dean!" The things were pulling him away from his brother. He kicked and screamed as they babbled nonsense at him. "I don't want to die! I don't want them to suck my blood out! Daddy!"

One of the things put its hand on Dean's neck and Sam struggled harder. "No, don't touch him! Get away from him!"

The thing shook its head as Sam was pulled from the room. "Dean!"

S S S

Sam concentrated on the coin, spinning it in place just beside his hand. He didn't have to see it to make it spin now. Sam had learned a lot from Max, particularly seeing how Max had thrust the knife through his stepmother's head. He had such control over his gift. Sam could only hope that he'd develop that sort of precision.

The man who killed Sam's father and brother walked out of the store and started down the street. Sam turned away from the window and started following him.

The coin stopped in mid spin, hovering in place, before dropping gently into Sam's hand.

They'd never know what hit them.


	3. Life 3

Life 3

John sank down to the ground and closed his eyes. After a few seconds, his bowed head came up and he looked at the gravestone in front of him, his face expressionless.

"Mary." His voice was gravelly. "Mary, I'm so sorry."

He sat for a few more minutes, before standing up and brushing off his jeans. He turned his back on the grave and the mound big enough for a three-year-old next to it and walked back to the Impala.

Dean needed him. They didn't anymore.

S S S

He pressed his hand over his face, holding the torrent in. He pressed his lips together, forcing his jaw to strengthen.

"He's awake," he ground out, "and breathing on his own. He's pretty out of it, though, can't do anything that the doctors tell him to do. So like Dean. But..." He pressed his lips tightly together and breathed. "He's awake." The dams broke. "I think he's going to be okay. It's going to take a while." He looked out into the distance, not really seeing the tree there, and gave a shaky laugh. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this." He focussed his attention on the words in front of him again: _Mary Winchester._ "I'm not going to let anything happen to him, Mary. I promise you that. I'll keep him safe."

S S S

"Dean's coming home tomorrow. I...I wanted you to know. He's doing really good; he's walking and his coordination is better. He's still getting headaches. The doctors say that he may have them for the rest of his life. He's not talking, though. They think it's because of the brain damage. But I know; he'll talk when he wants to. You can't force Dean to do anything that he doesn't want to do."

S S S

"Dean."

The voice was still far enough away. He put a hand on the smooth, cool stone and patted it. It was damp with the rain that had fallen earlier in the day. The stone felt just like he had done – cold, smooth and wet.

"Dean!"

Hands turned him around to face in the opposite direction and he struggled to turn back. "Dean, please." The hands on his shoulders tightened. "I can't lose you, too." He was pulled forward into a hard shoulder, flannel against his face, a hand on the back of his head. "Dean, please." The hands loosened and he stepped back. Fingers forced his chin up. "Dean, I need to hear you speak. I know you don't want to, but I need to hear you. Can you do that for me?"

There was a sigh, and one of the hands settled back on to his shoulder. "It's okay, dude; I understand. I miss them, too. But, you can't just run off like that. Something bad could happen to you."

He twisted around to face the stone again, his back against the legs behind him.

"Just let me know when you want to come here, and we'll come."

He reached out and ran a finger down the words. Still smooth, cool and damp - like Sammy. "Is Sammy go...going to pull k-kids under water now?" He almost surprises himself when the slightly slurred words come out.

His dad stepped in front of him and knelt down. "What? Dean, what do you mean?"

Dean stared at his dad. "There was a bo-boy pulling Sammy under water. I tried to get him to let go, but he woul-wouldn't, and Sammy...wasn't moving. Then the boy was pulling me down and I don't remember..."

A tear snuck down his father's cheek. "Oh, Dean."

"I wan-want Sammy back." Dean flung himself at his dad, silently shaking. He was lifted up and he pressed his face into his dad's shoulder.

"I do, too, kiddo. I do, too."

S S S

"God, Dad's being such a pain in the ass. 'Do your homework, Dean; you're not doing as well as you could be in school, Dean; clean up your room, Dean.' School is boring. He's talking about sending me to see a therapist to improve my concentration. Because we can blame everything on the fact that I nearly drowned. It's such a load of bull. I just don't like school. Why can't he get that?"

Dean studied the last piece of grass that he'd picked.

"Bet you would have been the _perfect_ son he wanted."

S S S

"I don't know what I'm going to do with him, Mary." John rubbed a hand over his face, weary to the bone. "He got suspended, again. Nearly broke another kid's nose and it took three teachers to restrain him. His mood swings so fast sometimes; you'll be joking with him one second and the next he'll be screaming at you."

He stopped and studied his feet. "I don't know whether I can do this anymore. I'm not helping him. They keep on telling me it should get better as he gets older, but I just don't see it. Mary, I don't know what to do."

S S S

"I hate him! I hate him. How could he? He keeps on saying that nobody will ever replace her, and, and then what does he do?"

Dean stopped his pacing to kick at a nearby head stone.

"Her name's Amanda. He says that if I get to know her I'll like her, but," he kicked again, "I don't want to get to know her! It's not like she's going to last anyway. I know he's had other 'girlfriends'." Dean filled the word with contempt. "They never last."

S S S

John stood with his hands in his pockets. "Thing's are going good. Dean's finally settling down a bit. Don't get me wrong, he's still a first class pain in the ass at times, and moody, and he's discovered girls, but he's not getting into as many fights as he was."

"I think." John breathed out slowly through his nose. "I think that Amanda has helped. I... I never expected to find her, Mary. Sometimes I feel so guilty... but she makes Dean happy, and she can be there when I have to work."

He studied his feet, reluctant to say the words. "I think I'm in love with her." He looked up and away, smiling slightly. "And it seems stupid, asking permission from my dead wife, but that's what I guess I'm doing. I don't think you'd hate me for this, but a part of me hates myself."

S S S

"It feels like it's been forever since I've been here. But, I guess I have an excuse – I've been away at college. I'm now a full-fledged high school science teacher."

Dean grinned. "Yeah, I know, hard to believe, huh? I've even got a job, at my old high school. The look on Mr. Knowles face when he saw me..." He chuckled. "I think he expected me to end up in prison.

"I'm living with Dad and Amanda until I find my own place. Hopefully that won't take too long; Dad's already getting antsy with me being there. I think I'm cramping their style."

S S S

"You'd be so proud of your nephew. I'd left Marcus on his stomach on the floor for a few minutes, and when I got back, I found him swimming in his own vomit. Seriously, full breaststroke action, happily spreading it everywhere. Dad said he's his father's son; I don't think Gillian ever doubted that. I can't believe how big he's getting. He's almost six months, getting so heavy and active.

"School's going good. Haven't blown up anything lately, and my eyebrows have finally grown back.

"Dad's been irritable. I thought I was bad, but he's been worse. Probably just the weather, he always gets this way when there are storms. Anyway, I better head home, looks like there's another one coming in."


	4. Life 4

Life 4

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" Dean demanded, clenching a piece of paper tightly in his hand. Sam turned around on the couch and felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach with dread.

"Uh, Dean, man, I'm so sorry," he said, his voice soft, as he stood slowly. "I, uh, didn't mean for you to find out this way."

Dean's eyes narrowed as he shook the letter. "What, you were going to tell me five minutes before you walked out the door? You're leaving on _Tuesday_, Sam. Doesn't give you much time to tell me." He stared down at the piece of paper, before deliberately opening his hand and letting it fall to the floor. Sam shook slightly with adrenaline as Dean stalked over to their fridge, yanked the door open, and pulled a beer out.

"It's a little bit early for that, isn't it?" Sam said, quiet accusation in his voice as Dean opened the bottle and took a long gulp. Dean set his jaw and took another long pull, his eyes daring Sam to say something. "You're turning into Dad."

The corners of Dean's mouth turned up into a dangerous smile. "What did you say?" His voice was low and husky.

Sam looked away and wet his lips nervously, before locking gazes again with Dean. "I said you're an alcoholic, Dean, just like Dad was. And we both know how well that turned out." Dean took a menacing step forward, his jaw tightening further, as Sam held his ground. "You need help, man." Sam shook his head. "I can't...I can't watch you do this to yourself anymore. I won't. I have a chance, a chance to make something of myself. I'm not letting you ruin that for me, not like Dad ruined it for you."

The bottle was put down on a nearby table – couldn't risk anything happening to the beer - and Sam was up against the wall before he'd even realised that Dean was going to lose it. "Don't...you don't talk about Dad that way." Sam could smell the beer on Dean's breath and see the unshed tears in his eyes as he pinned him in place. "He didn't ruin anything for me. I don't have brains like you do, Sam; I was always going to be stuck in some dead end job. So don't you dare go blaming that on him. He did the best he could."

"What, the 'best he could' includes crawling so far into a bottle that he ran through a red light, killed himself and left a twenty-eight year old so brain damaged that he'll never wake up? I don't think Geoff Moran's fiancée would agree with you."

Dean gripped Sam's shirt tighter, shoving him back harder against the wall.

"He left you to look after me, Dean. You were nineteen – you shouldn't have had to figure all that out. Dad should have been there. It wasn't fair."

Dean laughed. "Life isn't fair, Sammy. I realised that when I saw our house in flames." He suddenly released Sam and stepped back. "Go, if you want to. Get your fancy education; stop me from ruining your life. And when life kicks you in the face, don't come crying to me." He turned away, walked over to his beer and picked it up.

Sam moved forward a hesitant step. "Dean –"

"Just get the hell out, Sam."

S S S

Sam rubbed a hand over his face and walked to the door. Who the hell was knocking at this hour was anyone's guess. The knock came again. "Hang on. Geez, we get the idea." He wrenched open the door to find whoever was knocking – a guy – walking away. "You knocked?" Sam called.

The guy stopped and turned around and Sam almost fell. "Dean?"

Dean smirked. "You miss me?"

"Dean, what are you doing here?" He put a hand on the doorframe for support. Of all the things to happen on Halloween, having his brother knock on his door was not one he expected. "How did you find me?"

"One question at a time, little brother. Can I come in, so we don't annoy your neighbours, or are you going to continue to be rude to your brother?"

Sam blinked rapidly. "Come in; come in, I guess."

Dean pushed past him through the doorway and Sam immediately noticed something different. "You don't smell like alcohol." Sam shut the door. "Or smoke."

Dean nodded, his expression suddenly serious. "Sober for one hundred and thirty five days."

"Wow, Dean." Sam swallowed heavily. "Just, wow."

Dean shoved his hands in his pockets and jiggled a little in place. "I made my little brother speechless, huh? Got to be a first." He gave Sam a shy smile.

"Sam, everything okay?"

Dean turned as Jess came out of their bedroom.

"Jess," Sam said, "this is my brother, Dean."

Dean pointed in Jess' direction, an eyebrow raised. "This is your girlfriend? Darling, you're way too good for my little brother."

"And from all I hear, you're not good enough." Jess walked over to stand by Sam, lending him her silent support.

"Jess, it's okay."

Dean smiled sadly. "No, Sam, it's not. Your girlfriend's right. Look, I should never have come. Just...have a nice rest of your life."

Sam put a hand out to stop Dean as he tried to walk past. "I want you to stay. Please, Dean."

Dean looked up at him, before nodding. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too, man."

"Sorry enough to share your Lucky Charms?" Dean leered at Jess before smiling broadly at Sam.

Sam smiled back. "Not that sorry. If you stop hitting on my girlfriend, I'll let you sleep on my couch – that's the best offer you'll get."

"Deal...jerk."

"Bitch."


	5. Life 5

Life 5

"This is Dean."

"Oh, hey, Dean."

Dean put the rag he'd been cleaning his hands with down and walked out of the garage, gesturing to the phone for his dad's benefit. "Hey, Sammy. What's up?"

"Oh, nothing much. Just thought I'd call to see how you're doing. So, how you doing, Dean?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm fine, but that's bull, Sammy. You're worried about something."

"What, you're psychic now?"

"No, I just know you, and Mr Michaelson wants his car back today; I don't have time to mess around. Now spill: what's bothering you?"

"I dunno, man." Sam's frustration came through loud and clear. "It's nothing; I'm probably just freaking out about the interview next week and with the time of year and all..."

Dean glanced back to the garage to see their dad watching him. "Yeah, I hear you. But, you're going to kick ass in that interview."

"That's what Jess said."

"Wise woman."

"It's just...Has Dad ever explained to you the whole salt thing? You know, salt at the windows, at the doors-"

"Sam, I've lived with the man for longer than you have, I know what you're talking about. And no, he's never explained. I just figured-"

"What?"

"Actually, I've got nothing. You caught me on a bad day. Ring back tomorrow, I'm sure I'll think of something suitably witty for your higher sensibilities."

"Dean."

Dean smiled. "Sorry. You were saying?"

"I did some research-"

"Geek," he muttered.

"-Shut up, Dean, and salt is used to ward off spirits, demons, etcetera."

"Did you just use etcetera in a normal conversation? Dude, you need to get a life."

"Dean! Would you be serious for just one second?"

Dean rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I already knew about the salt, Sam. I looked it up a few years ago."

From the pause, Dean knew Sam was trying to figure out how to reach down the phone line and strangle him.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sam finally said.

Dean's expression was incredulous. "Dad comes across as crazy enough without knowing the whys of it. You'd have confronted him or wanted to send him to a loony bin or something."

There was a sigh. "You're probably right."

"Of course I'm right, I'm your big brother. Now, what's bothering you, 'cause it sure as hell isn't Dad's weird ways."

The line was quiet for a few moments as Dean put his free hand in the pocket of his jumpsuit and kicked a loose stone around.

"I've been having these dreams, about Jess."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Dude, you know I don't want to hear about your sex life."

When there was annoyed silence from the other end, Dean stopped. "I'm sorry, Sammy, continue," he said solicitously.

"Jess is on the ceiling and the room is on fire."

Dean winced. "Sam, that's not a dream, that's a nightmare."

"I've been having them every night. I don't want to tell Jess, because I don't want to worry her-"

"-Instead you worry me-"

"-And it's probably because of Mom dying in that fire that I'm having them. Although, why Jess is on the ceiling I have _no_ idea."

"And then there's the obvious," Dean offered.

"Yeah."

"Have you picked a ring yet?"

"No... I can't find the right one. None of the ones I've looked at seem like Jess to me."

"Sam, a ring is a ring."

"Says the guy who got turned down."

"That wasn't to do with the ring." Dean shook his head, slightly pissed. "And I can't believe you brought that up. Talk about a low blow."

"Did I mention that I haven't had a good night's sleep in three days?"

"No excuse. I had worse with Kayla and I wasn't verbally castrating people."

"According to Dad you were."

"Well, we've already established that Dad's one fry short of a happy meal, Sam, so I don't think he's a very credible witness."

Dean could hear the smile in Sam's voice. "You have got to stop watching Law and Order, man. How is the midget doing, anyway?"

"Asking how people are." At Sam's snort, Dean continued, "I'm serious. Two days ago she turned around to Emily and said, 'How are you?'"

"Wow. She's what, ten months?"

"Eleven."

"That's big."

Dean smiled proudly. "Yeah, yeah it is. I have her tonight, so I'm hoping I can get a 'Dude, where's my car?' out of her, or maybe 'Uncle Sammy smells'."

Sam laughed. "Good luck with that."

He took a deep breath. "Sam, stop thinking so much, relax and take your girl out for a night on the town. Call me after the interview."

Dean hung up and walked back into the garage, taking care to not scuff the salt line. If he did, he'd never hear the end of it from his dad.

S S S

"She asleep?"

Dean sank wearily into the armchair. "Yep. I am, too."

John looked from the TV over to Dean and chuckled. He did look almost asleep. "Hey, Dean," he said, his voice casual, "was that Sammy who called earlier?"

"Yep," Dean replied noncommittally as he burrowed further into his chair and closed his eyes.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah." There was a pause and John thought that he would have to push more to get details. "He's just a little stressed about the interview, finding a ring. Been having nightmares." Dean propped his head up on his hand.

"That sucks."

"Yeah. I certainly wouldn't want to be dreaming about Emily on the ceiling on fire."

John's stomach sunk right through to Australia and didn't resurface. "What?"

An eye cracked open. "He's having nightmares that Jess is on the ceiling and the room is on fire. Freaky, huh?"

John gripped the arms of his chair tightly. Sam was only six months old when his mother died; there was no way he could know. John had never told him and Dean about it. He wanted to give his sons as normal a life as he possibly could. It didn't mean that he didn't take precautions, but the boys were unaware of their meaning.

He abruptly got up from his chair.

"Dad?" Dean said, unwinding slightly from his compact position. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, Dean." John dropped a hand onto Dean's shoulder as he walked past. "Just relax. I want to look something up on the net."

S S S

He stared at the screen. It couldn't be.

All the signs were there.

He couldn't rule out that it wasn't related to a child who was about to turn six months old. But, there hadn't been any activity on that front for years.

And, Sam's dream. He was dreaming about something that he couldn't know. He was one of the children – and maybe that meant that there was something special about him, some reason that the demon had to kill his mother and, maybe, now kill Jess.

He needed to know whether all the details in Sam's dream matched up.

"Dad?"

John swiftly turned around and faced his sleepy son standing in the doorway. "I want you to call Sammy."

Dean's brow wrinkled with puzzlement. "It's late, Dad. Can't this wait until tomorrow?"

"No, it can't." John searched for the portable phone buried under the weather reports on his desk, finally finding it under Arkansas, 1983. He handed the phone to Dean. "Call your damn brother."

Dean looked at the phone and at John. "Dad..."

"Now, Dean," John barked.

Dean glanced back towards his daughter's room before sending a concerned 'let's humour the crazy man' look John's way.

"Okay, okay," he muttered as he dialled the numbers. "Yeah, I know, Sam... You might want to go outside, avoid disturbing Jess... Look, I'm sorry, man, but Dad wants to talk to you." Dean thrust the phone at his father.

"...don't want to talk to Dad, Dean. I'm hanging up."

"Sammy," John said, "don't hang up. It's very important that you listen to me."

"It's Sam. Sammy was a chubby twelve year-old. Whatever this is, it better be good."

John breathed through his annoyance and frustration and ignored the concerned looks he was getting from Dean. "Jess is on the ceiling, her stomach is slit open, there's blood dripping down and then she and the ceiling are on fire."

"Wh-what?" Sam's voice was shaky and he drew in a deep breath. "How...how could you know that? I only told Dean about the f-fire and her being on the ceiling. How-"

John locked eyes with Dean who was leaning on the wall, silently shaking his head back and forth.

"Sam, your mother died the same way above your crib. She was on the ceiling."

Dean pressed his lips together as his face scrunched up. He backed towards the door. "No, I'm not listening to this. This is insane," he whispered.

"You must – you must have told us what you thought you saw-"

"No, Sam."

"Or we heard you dreaming about it-"

"Sam, it happened and this may happen to Jess. I've researched it. Other mothers died in fires in their baby's nurseries on the night that the baby turned six months old in 1983. All exactly six months."

"No."

"Yes, Sam. There are always signs – electrical storms, cattle mutilations. They happened when your mother died and they're happening in Palo Alto right now."

Dean shook his head one last time before fleeing the room. John turned his back to the door, putting all his will power into persuading Sam.

"The fire in your nursery, Sammy, it chased me out of the room. It was like it was alive."

Sam's voice was choked up. "Do-do you realise how completely insane this sounds? What? Did a ghost or a d-demon or something kill Mom?"

"A demon."

"A demon. Demon. Right."

"They exist, Sam."

"And, what do you want me to do, Dad, huh?" The Sammy voice that John remembered so fondly made a comeback. "If this crackpot theory of yours is true, what do I do?"

John's voice was quiet. "Leave Jess, leave Stanford."

Sam laughed. "Oh, you'd love that, wouldn't you? You never wanted me to go away to school. Is that what this is? Some sick attempt to get me to leave Stanford? Because, I'm telling you now, it's not going to work."

"Sam," John barked, "_you're_ the one who is dreaming about Jess dying. Are you so selfish that you would even risk it happening? Can you risk her life on your Dad being a crackpot who just happens, by coincidence, to know details of your dream that you didn't tell anyone? Can you, Sam?"

There was silence. "No," Sam finally said, his voice thick. "No, I can't risk her life. It's just... It's a lot to ask me to believe, all in one go."

"I wish I didn't..." John trailed off.

"I know, Dad," Sam softly said.

"After I talk to Dean, I'm going to leave. Break up with Jess, go to a motel. I don't think that anything will happen till November 2nd, but you can't risk it, Sam. You can't."

"I know."

"I'm sorry, Sammy. You have no idea how much."

John pressed the button on the phone to end the conversation and just stood there, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He was too old and tired for this. He walked to the door and out, glancing across to Kayla's room and then down the stairs. Dean was sitting on the bottom step, Kayla's bag beside him, and the girl herself asleep on his shoulder.

Fixing the image firmly in his mind, he slowly made his way down and sat beside Dean on the wide step. He brushed his fingers gently over Kayla's soft brown hair and she stirred slightly in her father's arms.

"I couldn't even make it out the door," Dean said softly.

"You don't have to.'

Dean looked John in the eyes. "Why didn't you tell us?"

John mentally sighed in relief. He didn't know what had happened to make Dean _believe_, but he did. "I was trying to protect you."

Dean's brow furrowed. "How could I protect Sam, how can I protect Kayla, if I don't know what's out there, what happened to Mom?"

John scratched his cheek absently. "You have to understand, Dean, most people will never see anything like this in their entire lives. I had no reason to think that what happened was related to Sammy. The demon took your Mom, not him."

There was a snort. "Sure you didn't."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Dean readjusted his grip on Kayla. "You didn't want Sam to go to college."

"And I told you to go."

Dean nodded.

"This conversation is going to take a while, might as well do it in comfort." John stood up and led the way to the two armchairs they had been sitting in before, claiming his own. He waited until Dean was settled, Kayla leaning on his chest. "When you went to college, did you put salt at the windows and doors like I told you to?"

"Yeah." Dean nodded. "Most of my roommates thought I was insane, but yeah, I did. I couldn't lie to you, not about something that you thought was so important." He inclined his head. "Even if I didn't know the reason."

"Do you think your brother would?"

John could almost see the light bulb go on above Dean's head.

"You were scared that something might happen to Sam because he wouldn't, and that's why you didn't want him going," Dean said slowly as John nodded his head in agreement. "What about Kayla, though? What if it, the, the demon," he stumbled over the words. "What if the demon had come after Emily when she turned six months old? If you'd told me, I could have protected her."

"No," John shook his head, "you couldn't. Dean, I don't know how to kill this demon. If it had come, you might have been killed, too. There were no signs, but I watched Emily's house all night. If it had happened, Kayla would have been safe."

Dean's eyes were full of pain and disbelief. "And Emily would have been dead." He dragged in a deep breath. "So, Sam's having dreams about things that he couldn't know, which is... Actually, I don't know what it is, other than freaky. What happens now?"

"I'm going to go and get Sam and go and see Missouri."

"Missouri?"

"Missouri Moseley. She's a psychic in Lawrence." Dean made a face at the word. "She's the real deal, Dean. You seemed to like her, when you met her."

There was silence as Dean chewed on his lip. John couldn't believe how well he was taking everything; that he believed what John was saying.

"I can't come with you," Dean said abruptly, his face set. "I can't leave Kayla."

"I know." John felt his gut burning with tension. "And we won't be able to contact you. We can't take the risk that it will come after you or Kayla."

Dean's breath hitched as he rocked slightly. He looked away, trying to recapture his composure. "Just, just make sure you and Sammy don't kill each other, okay?" Dean smiled at John.

John smiled back sadly. "Will do," he said hoarsely. He cleared his throat. "I should get going." He stood up hesitantly, feeling his joints creak. Dean pulled himself out of his chair, moved forward and threw his arms around John, making sure to not squash the girl in his arms. John closed his eyes as he wrapped his own arms around Dean, holding him tightly. "I'm proud of you, Dean," he whispered. He felt Dean's head nod against his shoulder. John reluctantly let go and Dean stepped back. "And I love you, little girl." He kissed Kayla's head gently before turning and walking to the door.

"Dad?"

John stopped and faced Dean.

"That motel we stayed at when I was seven, that was..."

"Yeah," John said.

S S S

As John drove to Stanford he tried to submerge his guilt and grief.

It would only take a few months: they'd find out how to kill the demon, figure out what was going on with Sam, and it would all be over. Sam could go back to Stanford, make up with Jess, get married and become a lawyer like he wanted to. John could go back home and have his family back.

Just a few months. He could do that.


End file.
